There's a knock on the door followed by a doorbell at roughly 9:30 that morning. The sudden interruption of silence causes Monroe to drop the tiny screw he was holding on the end of a screwdriver and it hits the ground with a very tiny click. He sighs irritably and glares back at the door. This had better be important, he'd been working on this clock for over two hours now and he was almost done. He sighs again and stands, resolving to find the screw when he got back because as tiny as it was, it would probably take a few minutes to locate it even with his enhanced blutbad vision. There's another knock and he grumbles low in his throat, walking to the door with deliberate slowness. If someone was knocking on his door this early in the morning, they could wait for him to answer it.
As he gets closer, he catches a familiar smell and it causes him to hesitate slightly. It smells like old coffee and ink, fast food and someone who hasn't showered nearly as often as they should. It's the unmistakable smell of a police officer; Nick used to smell like that when he would come over after a double shift or a stakeout. The thought of the younger man makes him bristle a bit but the intense flare of rage he'd felt toward him has subsided a bit over the past few weeks. He no longer wanted to rip his throat out but he certainly didn't want to see him. He wasn't ready for that just yet.
As he reaches for the door though, he realizes it's not Nick but someone different. This person smells similar to Nick but entirely different at the same time…it's confusing. Monroe frowns and opens the door.
Nick's partner is standing on his front porch, hands dug deep into his pockets and hovering on just this side of too much coffee; Monroe can smell a startling amount of caffeine on him. "Edwin Monroe?" Hank asks when Monroe opens the door all the way, catching his eye with a look that tells him he's here on business.
"Yes?" Monroe answers a bit hesitantly because he knows from personal experience that having a cop show up on your doorstep (who's not a wide-eyed, baby Grimm) is never a good thing.
"I'm detective Hank Griffin, I'm Nick's partner." Seeing Monroe's nod of affirmation, he continues. "Would you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
Monroe hesitates for a just a second longer before nodding. Something is very wrong with this picture but he's not sure what yet. "Yeah. Yeah, come on in. I'll make us some tea." He steps to the side and allows Hank to walk into the hallway, following along behind him and closing the door with a soft whoosh. He leads Hank into the kitchen, apologizing absently for the eviscerated clock on the kitchen table, and walks over to the cabinet, pulling out his kettle. He settles himself on tea because Hank looks like he's about two cups of coffee away from a caffeine overdose and he's not willing to take that chance.
Hank takes a seat at the table and pulls a notepad out of his pocket, looking at Monroe expectantly. "You're friends with Nick, right?"
Monroe feels himself bristle again at the question but he forces himself to remain calm, no need to take his anger out on Hank. "I wouldn't say friends necessarily," he mutters and he's unable to keep the touch of bitterness out of his voice. "Nick came to see me about the wristwatch involved in that case you guys had a couple of months ago involving that escaped convict. He needed some advice and I gave it to him." He knows he sounds flippant and uninterested but he's honestly not sure how much Hank knows about his and Nick's relationship and he doesn't want to cross those boundaries until they're brought up.
"Has he come to see you recently? Asked you about anything?" Hank asks, jotting something down on his notepad with a casual glance up at Monroe.
Monroe shrugs and fills two cups with hot water, adding a tea bag into each cup. "No, I haven't seen him recently." It's not a complete lie but once again Monroe's not sure how much Hank knows so he keeps that to himself. "Why? Is there a problem with a case?"
Hank shakes his head slowly. "No, not a case. Nick has just been acting a bit off lately and we're trying to see if he may have mentioned anything to anyone."
"'Off' how?" Monroe asks before he can stop himself, his long extinguished deep seated concern for the younger man rearing its ugly head.
"Just different. Not exactly normal for him, you know? It started after that home invasion a couple weeks ago."
Monroe grits his teeth to bite back the harsh bark of laughter that threatens to tear through his throat. Everyone was so worried about Nick being affected by the shooting? The thought was like the punch line in a tragic comedy.
"Yeah, I read about that. Nick had to shoot someone, didn't he?" The question comes out like a verbal slap and Monroe has to physically rope in the growl that's building in his chest.
"Yeah, but he definitely didn't want to," Hank says with a sigh and a shake of his head, apparently oblivious to Monroe's snap. "I was there with him; I knew he didn't want to take that shot but when she went for one of the kid's he didn't really have a choice."
Monroe feels a sick, heavy weight settle in his stomach at the revelation and he coughs a bit to clear his throat. He didn't know Angelina had gone after one of the kids in the house… "Yeah, I guess I can see how that might be affecting him."
"Anyway," Hank continues, glancing up from his notes. "I was wondering if you've had any contact with Nick in the past few days?"
Monroe shrugs, still feeling a bit like the wind had been knocked out of him. "No, like I said I haven't seen him in a few weeks now." He walks over and hands Hank the tea, frowning a bit as something else dawns on him. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, Nick didn't show up for work last night and we're just trying to narrow down all of our options before we do anything else."
There's something missing about that explanation, something Hank's not telling him, and it's putting Monroe on edge. Still, he's trying to come across as unconcerned, as nothing more than an acquaintance who knows Nick only from his work as a detective, so he shrugs loosely. "Are you sure he didn't just skip town for a few days? Go see his girlfriend or something like that?"
Hank shrugs and there's a dark expression that crosses his face. "Well, we're looking into that but if blood spatter and signs of a struggle are any indication of "skipping town" then I've been doing it wrong for years."
Monroe freezes, cold, sickening dread stabbing him in the pit of his stomach. "What?"
Hank frowns grimly, seeming to realize he just said something he shouldn't have, but now that it's out in the open he can't take it back. "We think Nick's been kidnapped."
And there it is, all presented out on the table and open like one of the case files Nick used to bring over all the time. Nick was missing. Nick might have been kidnapped. There was blood so that meant Nick was hurt. All these thoughts swirl through Monroe's head with enough force to make him dizzy and he feels like he can't breathe for a minute. Sure, he'd been pissed at Nick, absolutely furious with him in fact, but that didn't mean he wanted anything to happen to him. He coughs, clearing his throat a bit and trying to get past the lump that's suddenly formed right beneath his Adam's apple. "Do you have any suspects in mind?"
Hank shakes his head slowly, resigned, and lets out a heavy sigh. "No, we're combing his house for clues right now but we're not coming up with a lot. No fingerprints, no clothing fibers, no witnesses. We did find some blood in the house that didn't belong to Nick and we're sending it to the lab to get tested but that could take a couple of days depending on the clarity of the DNA."
Hank is still talking, rambling on about police procedure and protocol, but Monroe barely hears him. There's a rush of blood through his ears and he feels like he could lose his balance if he wasn't leaning against the kitchen counter right now. Nick is gone…this is not good. Being a detective already put him on the shit list for several of Portland's ill reputed citizens but tie in the fact that Nick is a Grimm and that list suddenly doubles, if not triples. There are a lot of people out there, human and creature alike, who want nothing more than Nick's head on a plate and he doesn't even want to think about the others that would keep him alive for other nefarious purposes. The expression on Hank's face tells him more than the other man is saying: with little evidence and a cold, 24-hour window with no contact from Nick, the case is not looking good. They don't know if Nick is dead or alive and they're starting to lose hope for the latter. Even if he is still alive, he's injured and they don't know how severely; in the hours or days it might take to find him it might already be too late. Currently, Nick's fate is like a loaded die and not a single roll is going to land him on the winning side.
Hank stands after a minute, handing him a card and asking him to call if he has any information that could be useful to their case. Monroe takes the card with a slight nod and follows Hank to the door. Hank thanks him for the tea and steps off the front porch, walking out to his car and sliding in behind the steering wheel. Monroe watches wordlessly as he pulls away, lingering by the door for a few minutes until Hank's car disappears around the corner.
Hank didn't know about Nick's Grimm lineage or the fact that half of Portland knew of his existence and that automatically put him at a disadvantage. There was a very good chance the person who took Nick wasn't human at all but one of the many creatures who had been targeting him over the past few months. There's only one way to be sure though: he needs to go to Nick's house and check it out for himself.
Tea cold, clock completely forgotten, Monroe grabs his car keys from the kitchen and walks outside into the cold, windy morning. "Idiot Grimm," he mutters, sliding in behind the steering wheel and cranking the engine. The car sputters to life and he pulls out of the driveway, turning left on the main street and driving in the direction of Nick's house.
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He parks his car a few houses down from Nick's seeing as how there's currently two squad cars parked outside of the detective's home. He's seen enough cop shows to know that they're staking out Nick's house in case his attackers come back for any reason but that makes the job of sneaking in infinitely more difficult. It's not impossible but he knows these cops are on full alert for anything suspicious so he's going to have to be particularly careful not to get caught as he sneaks past them.
He steps out of his car and locks it, walking along the sidewalks and fences that line the neighborhood. When he sees an opening, he ducks off the main sidewalk and slips into the yard that runs along the side of Nick's house. The fence is easy enough to jump and he lands quietly in the back yard, pausing for a minute to catch his breath and make sure the coast is clear. When he doesn't hear the yelp of sirens or feel a gun pressed to the back of his head indicating he's been caught, he stands slowly and makes his way over to the back door. Nick had given him a spare key months ago and he digs it out of his pocket, wiggling it into the lock and turning it slowly and quietly. He opens the door with the hem of his shirt and steps inside, closing it behind him softly.
The house is empty but there's a heavy presence like it hadn't been for long. Monroe can smell blood in the air and it makes him antsy. The wolf rumbles low in his chest but he pushes it away and takes a few more steps into the house. The smell of blood gets stronger as he gets closer to the living room and he can feel the wolf rumbling a bit more aggressively now. There's another smell mixing in with the scent of blood, something no one lacking enhanced senses would pick up on. It's a heavy smell, thick and solid like a cloud hanging in the living room. It smells like oil and feathers, a moldy down pillow that's been left out by the side of the road to absorb the various filth and grime that collects in the gutters. Nachtkrapp…and more than one. He can smell them all over the living room and it sets his teeth on edge. Nachtkrapp were nasty creatures, scavengers who kidnapped children from their homes and took them back to their nests to devour them alive. And slowly. The thought makes Monroe shudder and he steps into the middle of the living room carefully.
The living room is a complete mess of broken furniture and yellow police tape. There's tiny number placards all over the floor and coffee table, indicating evidence found in different parts of the room. There's bloodstains everywhere. Monroe stares at the long crimson streak that smears across the bottom of the couch and lands in a large, dried pool next to the coffee table. There's speckles of it on the back of the couch, the edges of the bookshelf, the floor leading into the living room. It's literally everywhere and the shudder that trembles its way through Monroe feels like rats crawling up his spine. Nick had gotten the absolute crap beaten out of him but it looks like he didn't go down without a fight. There's another pool of blood a few feet away and just from the color Monroe can automatically tell that it doesn't belong to Nick. The other pool of blood is darker, more of a black/maroon than the reddish brown stains that mark the rest of the living room. Whatever bled in that spot wasn't human and Monroe feels something similar to a surge of pride that Nick had managed to get a few good blows in before he went down. He knows enough about Nachtkrapp to know that they fight dirty and if there was more than one of them here, it was likely that they had ambushed Nick completely before he managed to get to his weapon. From the looks of it though, Nick put up a hell of a fight and wasn't about to go quietly.
The amount of blood in the living room is worrying though. Almost all of it is Nick's and that means the extent of his injuries is unknown. Monroe looks back at the largest pool of blood, the one that streaks the couch and stains the rug beneath the coffee table. There's a lot of it, too much to be healthy, but it doesn't look like a lethal amount. Monroe feels just a very tiny portion of him relax at the thought but he knows it means little; just because Nick wasn't killed in the house doesn't mean he wasn't moved somewhere else to be killed there. Nachtkrapp were not known for their kindness toward their victims and that knowledge is enough to make Monroe feel his stomach drop another four feet. Nick was hurt, Nick was bleeding profusely, and there's an unmistakable scent of Nachtkrapp in his house.
This is not good.
The wolf inside is rumbling dangerously and he can feel his fingernails sharpening into claws. No matter how mad he was at Nick, how mad he had been, he didn't want anything to happen to him. True, he had loved Angelina and was still pretty pissed about her death, but Nick was one of the best and closest friends he'd ever had. He'd separated himself from his family, from the friends he'd had when he was younger, in an effort to reform himself. He'd gone into complete isolation, self-induced exile, and he had to admit that the "lone wolf" persona got old fast. Angelina didn't understand it and she had pressured him to change, to go back to who he used to be, to be a killer. He didn't want that life, he'd done everything he could to get away from it, and she called him weak. Angelina wanted blood, she wanted ferocity and wild animal instincts; Monroe wanted to make clocks and drink coffee in his house without having to worry about tearing into anyone who walked by wearing a red jacket. Nick understood all that, he accepted it and he didn't ask questions. Nick knew he had a dark past, he knew there were skeletons in his closet (both metaphorically and literally), but he didn't pry. Nick accepted him just the way he was with no questions asked.
And Monroe had turned his back on him. He feels sick to his stomach, disgusted with himself as cold, hard realization kicks him in the ass like a Boeing jet. Nick had been just as torn up about Angelina's death as he was but he didn't want to see it, he didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Nick might have been right in his decision to take the shot. Jesus, she had gone after kids! Even at his worst, Monroe would never have gone after a child; there were just some lines he refused to cross. He sighs heavily, shaking his head at the floor. "I was an ass…" he mutters to no one in particular, his voice echoing in the empty living room.
He glances back at the blood spattering across the floors, staining the couch and the rug. He grits his teeth, fresh rage and indignation welling deep inside his chest. Someone had taken his Grimm and he was going to tear apart all of Portland if he had to to get him back.
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Roddy is standing on his front porch when he gets back and he's not alone, Barry and Holly are there with him. The second he pulls into the driveway, they surround the car like a mob.
"Nick is gone!"
"Hank says he's been kidnapped!"
"We have to find him!"
Damn, word travels fast in the Grimm grapevine. There's a cacophony of voices coming from every direction as Monroe is bombarded by three very frantic teenagers. Roddy is standing next to his window, Barry is next to the hood, and Holly is on the other side with one hand gripping the handle like she's ready to rip it off the hinges. Judging by the panic in their voices, he wouldn't be surprised if she did tear the door off. He opens his own door and pushes it open carefully to avoid smacking Roddy in the chest with it. The Reinigen steps away and allows him to get out of the car but he stays close enough to leap back into the conversation the second Monroe is out of the car.
"Monroe, something happened to Nick," Roddy tells him the minute the door closes and immediately Barry and Holly are behind him nodding in affirmation.
"I know, guys," Monroe tells them, just to assure them he is aware of the current situation involving their missing Grimm. They really shouldn't be talking about this out in the open though…
"Well, come on man! We have to go find him!" Barry insists, looking out to the road like he's ready to start the search all by himself.
"Do you think it was a Reaper?" Roddy asks, his voice dropping an octave. Even though they usually only went after Grimms, Reapers were still in the boogeyman stories that parents told their children late at night.
"Nick is missing!" Holly asserts, slapping the palm of her hand on the hood of Monroe's car hard enough to dent it. Normally he would have been annoyed by that but given the circumstances (and the fact that Holly is still trying to gain control of her abilities) he lets it slide.
"I know, I know," Monroe tells them all again, glancing up to his house. "Come one, let's go inside and we can talk about this some more; you don't know who could be listening out here."
The kids all look around a bit conspiratorially like they're just waiting for someone to tumble out of the Hydrangea bushes with a tape recorder. Monroe walks up the steps to his front porch and Holly, Barry, and Roddy are all right on his heels, crowding him at the door and following him inside once the door is open. The second the door closes behind them, the questions start up again.
"Do they know who could have taken him?"
"Did you go over to his house?"
"Is Nick hurt?"
"Easy guys," Monroe placates, raising his hands calmly in an effort to soothe. If everyone tried to talk all at once, they'd never get anywhere. "How did you all find out about this?"
"Hank showed up at Holly's house asking her and her mom if they'd seen Nick recently," Roddy explains, glancing over to the female blutbad sitting across the table from them.
"Hank said Nick is missing," Holly says, looking directly at Monroe like she needs another form of assurance that what she heard was correct. Monroe knew full well that Nick checked up on Holly every couple weeks to see how she was doing and make sure she was adjusting to domestic life alright. He'd made it his mission to look out for all the creatures he'd saved, to change the views that most of them had on Grimms as a whole. Nick personally checked up on Holly, Barry, and Roddy and he even got into the habit of dropping in to see the Wesen every once in a while just to prove that he wasn't a heartless killing machine like the other Grimms before him. The very thing Monroe had accused him of being…
"So she called me and I called Barry," Roddy continues, shrugging slightly. "And we came over here." They're all crowded around the table, three sets of eyes locked on him and waiting for advice. Roddy viewed him as a mentor, Holly as an Alpha, and he wasn't really sure what Barry saw him as but considering he hadn't been challenged to a Jagerbar cage match yet, he's pretty sure he's at least in the friend zone in that regard. He knows Nick was the one who persuaded the judge to give Barry and his friends probation rather than actual jail time so Barry holds Nick's well being to heart just like the other two.
"So what do we do?" Barry asks finally, breaking the silence in the room. It's the question all of them want to ask, the reason they're all here. They had come to him for advice, for direction. They had come to him because now that Nick's life was in danger, they needed a plan to get him back in one piece. With Nick gone, Monroe was their leader and they needed his permission to do anything else.
Monroe looks at all of them, taking in their young faces, their eager expressions, and their determination. He didn't have the heart to tell them that Nachtkrapp had been responsible for Nick's disappearance, that the amount of blood he found in Nick's house sent a stab of alarm into the pit of his stomach every time he thought about it. He didn't want to tell them that if Nick wasn't dead already, if they didn't find him soon he would be. He couldn't tell them any of that because he didn't want to hear it himself. They had to find Nick, alive, no matter what the cost. Failure was absolutely not an option.
"We get him back," Monroe said finally and it felt like a flood of tension left the room at his words. "We find him and we bring him back home. That's what we're going to do."